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Another such word was cunt. We could say most anything else but those two words made us blush. We could even talk about boys’ penises but when it came to fucking and cunt those were “whisper words” and very personal. So I did learn things in school but there was so much to learn that was not in school…the rest of the world (and boys!). But, as I wrote, we were just then working on poetry and it was hard for me…I was desperate for a good grade so I could graduate and a bad grade in English wouldn’t help. In my mind I would do anything for a good English grade. It helped…I didn’t know it at the time…that my teacher was good looking. He wasn’t all that young but young enough that all us girls had fantasies or crushes on him and at lunch we would giggle about what might happen…if…well, you know, if our fantasies were ever played out in real time with this good looking man. “Sherry,” Mr. Emerson said to me one day, “you are having trouble panties with your grade in this class. Maybe you need extra help…see me after school and I will see if I can help.” I nodded and felt a thrill go through me thinking of being alone with my handsome teacher. He wasn’t a boy but a real true man and I guessed that was why I tingled. I got uncomfortable and adjusted on my chair which caused more tingles and I couldn’t wait until after school. Finally, thankfully, classes for the day were over. I went to my locker, checked my hair…touched my lips with some lipstick…put all my books, except my English book, in the locker and walked to Mr. Emerson’s room. He was in the back office at a desk and reading something. Maybe he had forgotten about me…I walked into his office and stood there…the light was Hairy behind me and I wondered if Mr. Emerson could see the outline of my body through my dress. Finally, he looked up…saw me…smiled, said: “Oh yes Sherry…I almost forgot. Come in and close the door. I closed the door and walked to his little desk. We were alone and I wondered about it all. “Let’s talk,” he masturbation said, “about poetry and why we study Solo it…how you will learn to enjoy it because, after all, lots of poetry is about love and affection.” I was blushing and felt a thrill. I didn’t know why. Mr. Emerson opened a book on his desk and motioned me over beside him. I was breathing strangely and stood beside him looking down at the book. “This is the writing of Walt Whitman,” he said, “and much of his poetry is about love and feelings…read this part.” I leaned over to look at the words and his arm went around my waist. It was warm and I wiggled very slightly and began to read the poem about men and women and “feeling myself…alive” and Mr. Emerson was rubbing my back. “What do you think,” he asked. “It’s nice,” I said, not knowing what else to say and then blurted out: “Your hand feels nice on my back Mr. Emerson.” and he rubbed up and down my spine. My legs were getting weak and I moved into him. “Are you okay?” he asked and I could only nod and hope he wouldn’t stop rubbing me. “I need a good grade,” I finally murmured. Mr. Emerson said: “I know” and now his hand was on my bare leg, more rubbing. I parted my legs…I was telling him something…that he was arousing me, exciting me, that I wanted a good grade and more. His hand was so exciting and soft on me. “You have soft skin,” he whispered and I opened more. His hand traveled past my knee, rubbing above my knee…I took hold of the sides of the desk and waited…”gosh!” I oozed, “Mr. Emerson!” I held myself. We were alone in his office, the door closed, “Lock the door, Sherry,” he said and I did. “Come here you beautiful girl. I think there is an ‘A’ in amateur your future.” I nodded and returned to his side, legs apart. “Is there any way to move down? Her eyes open wide when the other slimy tentacle continues on. And they would help me. I was grinding deep inside of her. A memory of the pretty woman he had sat with popped into his mind, and he recalled drinking scotch. Maria and Ronja did amateur not mind the assistance, they were barely down before the guard came running out of the building. I turned to Hairy holly and said, “Now I get Solo it.” He panties walked up to me and confirmed it was me. And once he did. "Too bad you're not ready right now." Unable to switch off his deviously perverted brain, he opened it and rummaged through her underwear, feeling masturbation his slit get even wetter. What's going on! Please Mike.